


Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men

by somuchcloser



Series: Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchcloser/pseuds/somuchcloser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Harry find peace, forgiveness, and maybe more during Christmas. Eighth year fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The hallways were empty, and the stone passages did nothing to heat the semi-frozen castle. Common rooms, classrooms, and the Great Hall were cozy more often than not due to warming charms, but the Astronomy Tower was not offered the same comforts. Harry could see his breath mingling with the night air, visible only to him and the other current inhabitant of the tower.

"Well, Potter? What's the plan?" Draco Malfoy sneered. "Surely you have one, since you've been following me for weeks. I thought you'd gotten over your obsession back in sixth year, but it appears, in this, I am wrong."

Harry moved slowly in front of the door; it wouldn't do if Malfoy tried to escape now. Not when he'd worked so hard to get the young man alone. Not when it had taken so long to work up his nerve. It wasn't very Gryffindor of him to be this nervous of the Slytherin.

"I have one. A plan, that is." Harry reached into his robe pocket, and pretended not to see Malfoy flinch. Slowly he procured the Hawthorne wand, his left hand in front of him, signaling peace. "I just wanted to give this back to you." He held out the wand, pointing it at the ground.

Although he wanted to snatch it out of the Chosen One's hand, Draco Malfoy stood his ground, his features arranged in a perfect mask of disinterest. "Why now? You've had all semester to return my wand, Potter."

"I know," Harry grimaced. "I wanted to, earlier. I actually had it on me at your trial this summer, only... I couldn't make myself do it. I didn't want to just hand it over, and I heard that you would be given a new wand, so..."

Draco looked down at his own hand, where he held the length of aspen that Ollivander had procured for him days after his trial. He remembered the incongruous emotions that swept through him the first time he held the wand. It was beautiful, that much was obvious – white, sturdy, pale. There was a certain resemblance between wand and master that was undeniable. Ollivander had spoken about the wood's attributes; aspen wands worked well for those who were strong-minded and determined. Draco didn't see himself as either, now that the war was over. His loyalties had not been to the Dark Lord since he was in sixth year – the threat of torture and death had won over his inherited dislike of anyone whose blood was less pure than his own. Still, he often felt lost these days. Lucius was in Azkaban for life, and Narcissa had slipped away to the Continent in an effort to escape her grief and shame. The halls of Malfoy Manor were desolate and bleak, and Draco preferred to leave them to their cobwebs. Thus he was at Hogwarts two nights before Christmas. He was the only returning "eighth year" Slytherin to remain at the school throughout the hols, and he found the dungeons much too quiet for comfort. Of course, the Astronomy tower was not any better, but a walk had done him good. But now Potter was here, and he was looking at Draco with what could only be pity, and Draco found himself angrier than he had been in years.

"Yes, I have a new wand, Potter, so no, I won't be needing my old one back. You can keep it, and your pity. I've gotten along well enough without either." He made his way toward the door, trying to slip around the Boy Who Lived, but to no avail.

"I don't pity you, Draco."

Draco tried his best not to let his name, his real name, rattle him. It sounded oddly comforting coming from Potter. And that wasn't right.

Harry sighed. "I've been trying to find a way to talk to you, but I never can decide on what to say. It all looks good on paper, but when I try and practice it in the mirror... Merlin, I end up sounding like an idiot, just like I am now." His carded his fingers through his unruly hair. "I guess I wanted to say sorry, and thank you, and even though you're an enormous prat, I... I respect you. Or something."

Well. That was unexpected.

"I don't need your respect, Potter."

"I know that. But you have it. And I am sorry. I knew you were dealing with some nasty things sixth year, but I was so ready to make you the bad guy, that I didn't stop to think you were just a pawn in this, like all of us. Like me. I saw you lower your wand, I knew you weren't going to do it, but -"

"You saw me?" Draco interrupted. "You saw me that night, here, in this tower." He laughed incredulously. Unbelievable. Harry Potter would be there at all his lowest points. Always there to witness his shame.

"Yes. And I saw that you didn't want to do it, that you couldn't. And then later you saved my life by lying for me, when we both knew you recognized me. I was at your mercy, and you let me go."

"And then I almost burned you alive," said Draco. "Or have you forgotten that bit?"

"It wasn't you who set the fire. And when it came down to it, you weren't on his side. Voldemort's, I mean."

Draco shrugged, feeling his mask crumble. "It doesn't really matter though, does it? I couldn't complete the Dark Lord's task, and I couldn't save Vince. I wasn't even brave enough to accept Dumble... to accept Dumbledore's offer. I stood by and watched my lunatic of an aunt torture Granger. I almost got your weasel-faced ginger friend killed." He laughed, the sound short and hallow. "I managed to stay alive, Potter. That's it. You needn't respect such an empty victory. I didn't die. There's my accomplishment."

"It's mine as well. Not-dying has gotten me pretty far, I'd wager. And apparently most people think it is a fairly impressive victory, if the Daily Prophet headlines are anything to go by."

"That's different, and you know it."

"A life is a life, Draco. You have yours, and I have mine." Harry looked out the archway onto the grounds below. Far in the distance, towards the south, he could see Mars faintly above the horizon. "I'd like you to take your wand. Even if you don't use it, you should have it. And I'd like you to accept my apology, please. If only to rid me of my guilt."

"Bloody Gryffindors," Draco mumbled under his breath. "Fine!" He grabbed the Hawthorne wand firmly and shoved it in his robe pocket.

"And you accept my apology?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"And I accept your apology," Draco groaned. "Whatever. Please, just let me past. This is a bit too Hufflepuff for me. Are we going to hug next and tell each other our deepest secrets?"

Harry smiled, and Draco was somewhat relieved to see the pain clear from his green eyes. "Not unless you really want a hug."

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed.

"How about a handshake, then?" Harry held out his hand bravely, willing it to steady.

Draco stared at the proffered hand in wonder. It was too much like another possible handshake from years ago, before Dark Lords and opposing Houses and so very much bad history. He had made up his mind to leave Potter standing there like an idiot when the dark-haired boy whispered just one word: "Please."

His hand reached for Potter's before he could consciously realize what he was doing. Potter's hand was warm, and firm, and his grip was sure. It seemed to last quite longer than a handshake should, and Draco felt his cheeks warm at the touch.

"Pax?" Harry asked quietly, his tone hopeful.

"Pax."

And then Draco pushed past the Gryffindor and walked calmly down the steps until he was out of sight, and then raced back to his familiar dungeons as fast as possible, his heart beating a staccato rhythm all the way.


	2. Chapter 2

Once he was tucked safely into his Slytherin-green sheets, Draco allowed himself to revisit the evening's events. Potter had sought him out not to fight, but to call a truce. More than that, he'd apologized, something Draco never would have expected, or needed. If anything, he himself had much to apologize for; he was the one who should ask for forgiveness. But such a humbling gesture was beyond him, or so he told himself. There was little chance Potter would turn him away, or worse, laugh at him; he knew that now, after tonight. But the very thought that he could once again be dismissed.... 

Either way, one thing was for sure: Potter was cracked. That had to be the reason for all of this. Voldemort must have driven him to madness. Surely no one could remain sane after the Dark Lord's onslaughts, and Potter was strong, but he wasn't that strong. He was obviously barmy, and now Draco had the evidence. Well, if a handshake and promise of peace helped the Chosen One sleep a little sounder tonight, then that was alright. It didn't have to mean anything.

* * *

Draco was halfway through his small but delectable stack of pancakes when Potter entered the Great Hall. The blonde surreptitiously watched Harry scan the Gryffindor table, looking for a breakfast companion, it seemed. Granger and Weasley had obviously gone home for the hols, and Draco didn't see any of the returning eighth year blokes about either. Of the returning eighth years, there were definitely more Gryffindors and Ravenclaws than Hufflepuffs; in comparison, only Blaise, Theo, Millicent and Daphne had returned to Slytherin. And there was Draco, of course, who had been persuaded by his mum to finish up his education. 

Potter seemed to be deciding between sitting next to Lavender Brown or some younger students when he caught Draco staring at him. He gave a small smile and stepped away from the Gryffindor table. Draco held his breath as the Savior of the Wizarding World approached his table. There was no way. Potter may be barmy, but this... this was ridiculous. 

“Okay if I sit down?” Harry asked the Slytherin. He didn't wait for an answer. “Pancakes, eh? That looks pretty good. Is that lingonberry sauce?”

Draco just stared, unsure of what to say. Potter had joined him for breakfast like it was a normal thing. As if the entire room wasn't staring at them both. When it became evident he was waiting for an actual answer, Draco swallowed his pancake and blinked rapidly. “Huckleberry, I think. Apparently the house-elves are feeling a bit festive these days and have imported some different foods. There's mango and pineapple in the fruit cups this morning.” There. That ought to hold him.

“Oh, can I try a bit? Only, I tend to prefer just maple, myself, but that sounds interesting.”

Draco nodded slowly, not wanting to anger this obviously fragile mind. Potter leaned over and stabbed a bite of pancake, swirled it in the berry sauce covering Draco's plate, and plunked it in his mouth. “Merlin, that's fantastic!” He went about stacking his own pancakes and drenching them with the reddish-purple sauce. “Those house-elves outdid themselves on this!”

Yes. Well. Draco ate silently, glancing up now and then to watch Potter devouring his breakfast. He made the strangest sounds that made Draco feel a bit funny. When the Slytherin was done with his food, he reached for the carafe of coffee and refilled his cup. When the silence seemed oppressive, he spoke. “Potter, I can't help but notice you're at the Slytherin table this morning. With me. You do know your house table is over there?” He pointed at the group of people still staring at them both. 

Potter laughed, which was a little startling. “Yeah, I reckon I know where my table is, cheers. It's just that Ron and Hermione are visiting her parents for the holidays, and Neville, Seamus, and Dean all went home. So it's pretty much me and a few eighth year girls in Gryffindor, unless you count some of the underclassmen who stayed.”

Draco looked at him funnily. “And it's a bad thing, being alone with a bunch of lonely Gryffindor girls? I would think most blokes would be happy with those odds.” 

Harry frowned. “It's not bad, it's just not... Let's just say I'm not the sort to take advantage of that situation. And anyway, I saw you sitting here alone, so I thought I'd join you. We did make friends last night, right?”

Friends? They were friends now? “Sure, Potter.” Whatever he said.

Potter reached over and grabbed the coffee carafe, filling his cup but leaving it black. He raised the mug to his lips and sipped. 

“You drink your coffee black, Potter?” It just slipped out; Draco didn't really care, it was just an interesting tidbit. Something to say. 

“Yep. At the house I grew up in, you were lucky to get breakfast at all, honestly. Before I even knew magic existed, I learned to eat whatever was available as quick as I could. Thankfully, I can be a bit more discriminating now, but the black coffee thing sort of stuck with me.”

“You drank coffee when you were ten?” Once again, not really curious. Just making conversation.

“Sure. I needed energy to clean the house, cook the meals, mow the lawn, that sort of thing.”

“But...” Draco sputtered, “It sounds like you were a bloody house-elf! Isn't that a bit much to ask of a child, even for a Muggle?”

“For a normal Muggle, yeah,” Harry shrugged, “but my aunt and uncle were far from normal. They didn't want me, couldn't stand me, in fact, so I guess I was sort of the resident house-elf. But that's all over now,” he moved his hand as if to wave the memories into oblivion. “I'm an adult, by wizarding and Muggle law, and I never have to see them again. That is unless I want to, and I don't see that happening.”

“But Potter... you're the Chosen One! They didn't seriously treat you like that.”

“They did. But it doesn't matter now, s'all in the past. So why aren't you home with your mum?” 

Draco wasn't sure what to say; it was such a direct question, he was unprepared. Although, it wasn't as it he hadn't been prying into Potter's life...

“My mum is in Switzerland; she moved out of the Manor this summer.”

“And you didn't want to visit her?”

More like he couldn't bear the thought of seeing her so sad, not when he couldn't do anything to help her. “Guess I didn't feel like seeing the Alps again. And it's alright here. I needed to catch up on some studying anyway.”

“It's Christmas Eve, you know.”

“Yes Potter, I do know what day it is.”

Harry looked at the Slytherin carefully. He didn't want to push his luck; it had been amazing that Malfoy had spoken to him this long without so much as an insult. He had used all of his famous Gryffindor courage just to sit down at this table. It was strange, this compulsion to make amends with his former enemy. He'd been obsessed with finding out the boy's secrets sixth year, and now he found himself just as obsessed with wanting to make things right. He knew Malfoy must think him crazy, but he didn't want to graduate Hogwarts with an foe when he could have had a friend. 

“We should have Christmas together,” Harry said with determination. “You're by yourself, I'm by myself, and that's hardly in the holiday spirit.”

It was more than Draco could take. “Potter, have you gone completely mental? I mean, I was willing to overlook last night, but this is preposterous. You sit down here like it's not even strange, you talk to me about your childhood, and then you want to have Christmas together? I really think you might want to go see Madam Pomfrey. You were always a bit off your nut, but this is too much.” 

“If I go to the hospital ward, and they clear me of anything odd, will you consider it?” Harry pressed.

“Fine!” Draco threw up his hands. “If it makes you get help, fine. But when she finds out you've been Imperiused, or possessed, or hexed, or whatever, you'll certainly feel foolish about all of this.”

“Come with me.”

“Excuse me, Scarhead?”

“Come with me, so you won't think I'm lying. If I do have some sort of hex on me, everyone will assume it was you who put it there, after all. If Madam Pomfrey clears me, and you're there as witness, no one can say you were plotting behind my back. That way we'll both be cleared.”

“Gods, you are mental. Fine. But we're going now. I've got things to do, Potter, and I can't waste my whole day babysitting you.”

“Lead the way, Malfoy,” Harry said with a grin. Just as they passed the Gryffindor table, Romilda Vane grabbed his arm. 

“Harry, what's going on?” she hissed. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything's fine, Romilda. Malfoy here is just taking me to the infirmary because he thinks I've gone nutters.”

“And have you?” the girl questioned. 

“I don't think so, but I guess we'll find out!” Harry said with a laugh, and he dragged Draco out of the Great Hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah... I think this story is going to be slightly more slashy than I have first planned. Nothing crazy, but I did switch the rating to "M" just to be on the safe side. Sorry if that bothers anyone.

“Alright, Malfoy. Do you believe I'm in my right mind now?” Harry asked as they walked out of the infirmary. 

Draco shook his head. “No, not at all. All this means is that you're actually insane; there's just no magical cause. I'm going to guess it's from all the Dark Lord-inspired stress, plus your saving people thing. I never thought you were totally normal Potter, you know that, but I guess all the years of fighting finally did you in. Pity; I'd have liked to be the one who could take credit for such a feat.”

“Well if I am crazy, which Pomfrey disagrees with, if you didn't hear the first time... I think you can safely take at least fifteen percent of the credit.”

Draco grinned. “Really? Fifteen percent? That's rather sporting of you, Potter.” 

“Yeah well,” Harry smiled. “It's well deserved. So. Christmas.”

“Are you really on about that?” 

“Completely. The Tower may not be the most accepting place... do you think we should hang out in Slytherin? I mean, there's always the Room of Requirement, but I don't think either of us has great memories of that part of the castle.” 

The Slytherin stared, dumbfounded. “Slytherin? You want to hang out with me? In Slytherin?”

Harry shrugged. “Sure. It's not like I haven't been there before, first of all, and judging from the recent showing in the Great Hall, it has to be pretty dead down there.” 

Draco stopped walking and turned on Potter. “Excuse me? YOU have been down in the Slytherin dungeons? Exactly how and when?”

The Chosen One just winked and smiled. “I think I'll save that conversation for later.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

* * *

Harry ran almost the entire way to his dormitory, pushing past the noisy yet concerned housemates that questioned him on his health. When he finally reached his room, he closed the door, locked it, and silenced it. It was rare to have the eighth year dormitory entirely to himself. Between Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, it was likely there would be at least one other bloke in the room at all times. Of course, the bed curtains were always handy when one wanted a quiet nap... or a quick wank. Harry felt almost strange being alone in the large room, surrounded by empty beds. It was barely eleven in the morning, but the idea of a nap sounded marvelous. He'd been up all night thinking about his conversation with Malfoy in the astronomy tower, and his occasional yawning reminded him of the very little amount of sleep he had actually gotten. It was with a decisive nod that he pulled off his denims and t-shirt and made his way to the bed. He began to close the bed curtains before realizing it wasn't at all necessary. He'd been doing so since the beginning of break just out of habit, but now he left them open.

In fact... he could have a wank right out here in the open. He needn't even be quiet about it! Harry grinned, feeling rather deviant indeed. He reached into his beside table drawer and pulled out a small tube of what looked to be lotion, but was actually a rather ingenious lubricant created by Weasley Wizard Wheezes. George had given it to him for his most recent birthday, along with some rather embarrassing personal items. Apparently his reasons for not getting back together with Ginny had made their way to George, because among the buzzing or gripping contraptions was a copy of PlayWitch magazine. Harry had blushed marvelously upon receiving the gift (although he was thankful George hadn't made him open it in front of anyone), but his embarrassment hadn't kept him from holding onto each and every bit of his present. He hadn't used any of the more... advanced... gifts as of yet, but he found the lubricant to be brilliant.

Harry pealed off his briefs and flicked open the tube of lubricant. He carefully poured a bit into his hand and was once again amazed to feel it immediately warm to skin temperature. He bit his lip and snaked a hand down his chest, making sure to go slow enough to tease himself. When he reached his already half-hard cock, he gripped it with a slippery hand and slowly eased the warm liquid up and down his shaft. He shivered at the sensations the magical lubricant produced. There was a spell on the formula that caused a sort of delayed reaction; each touch lasted at least five times longer than normal, so when he stroked up his shaft, he also felt his most recent stroke down. It really was the most brilliant feeling – it was as if there were multiple, ghosting hands slipping over his skin, refusing to give him a moment's rest. 

It was a remarkably fast wank, and before Harry knew it, his head was thrown back and he was biting down on his lip. The smooth, pale body in his imagination seemed to echo his low groan, and with a sudden snap of his hips, he pulsed warm liquid all over his hand and stomach. 

Harry took a minute to catch his breath, and then he uttered a quick cleansing spell. It would have to do for now, and he'd take a shower once he'd had a nice, long nap.

* * *

It was past two-thirty when he awoke with a yawn. A quick tempus charm told him he'd slept for about three hours, which was impressive, in his book. Once he was fully awake, he contemplated the rest of his day. He'd told Malfoy he'd be down to Slytherin to celebrate Christmas, but he hadn't actually said when he'd be coming over. Harry didn't want to overwhelm his enemy-turned-friend, but he also didn't love the idea of spending Christmas Eve alone in his room. He needed a shower, and then he'd send off a letter to Ron and Hermione. And then, he thought with a smile, he'd see how a certain Slytherin responded to impetuousness.

* * *

Draco looked around the Great Hall, trying not to stare as a certain table where a certain wizard was certainly missing. Dinner would only be served for another eight minutes, and he hadn't spotted the bloody Gryffindor since just after breakfast. It wasn't as if he cared, but proper nutrition was important. Everyone knew that.

It was with sigh and a pilfered apple that Draco made his way down to the dungeons once more. He knew he needed to write back to Mother, but he couldn't find the appropriately comforting words to say no matter how hard he tried. He supposed there was always his homework, or studying to do, but both seemed unnaturally dull at the moment. Even Potions sounded like a terrible waste, and he was fantastic at Potions! 

He decided that laying down in his bed and at least thinking of what to write his mother was good enough for now. Not long after, a knock at the door broke what little concentration he had, and he invited the unknown person in. No one entered, although the door swung open widely. 

“Yes? What is it?” Draco asked, impatient. 

The door slammed shut and Draco flinched. “Hello? Is there someone there?” He hated it when his housemates involved him in their little pranks. He didn't have the time nor the interest in such frivolity, unless of course he was on the giving end.

He heard a quiet snickering and then Potter's face appeared, seemingly from nowhere. “Oh I got you good!”

“Potter!” sputtered Draco, “What in Hecate's name are you doing here?” In my bedroom, he added silently.

“Got bored. Thought it was only proper to ring in Christmas the right way, instead of just going to bed early and hoping I wake up to presents.”

“Ring in Christmas the right way? And that involves me and Slytherin house, does it?” Draco inquired. “Fucking mental,” he whispered and shook his head.

“Yes, Malfoy, it involves you. And Christmas cookies, and egg nog, and all of that.” He snapped his fingers, and called out a word that seemed odd, given the circumstances. 

Suddenly, a old house-elf appeared next to Potter. “Kreacher is here,” it croaked. Ah. It was a name. That made more sense. 

“Kreacher,” said Harry, “Do you mind nipping down to the kitchens and seeing what's there in the way of sweets? And, if it's not too much trouble, bringing me a bottle of Ogden's from home?”

Draco's eyebrows rose even higher, if that was possible. Potter, here, in his bedroom, ordering around house-elves and looking for booze? It was shocking, but altogether rather fascinating. It gave Draco a feeling he was rather uncomfortable associating with Potter, no matter how often he felt it in the other young man's presence. If he had to define it, it would be a sort of mixture between arousal and denial, with just a smidgen of shame. 

And really, what WAS Potter doing? The way he was going on about it, it was as if they were actually friends, and had been for some time! He could probably just ask the other wizard about his motivation for this farce, but he had a far better idea in mind. 

“Go on Potter, take a seat,” Draco said, pointing to the bed closest to his. 

Harry surveyed the very green and silver room and smirked. “There's just as much green here as there is red in Gryffindor. Do you think they're worried we may forget which house we belong to?”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “I very much doubt I'd ever confuse myself for a bloody Gryffindor. Or worse, a Hufflepuff.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I can't see that happening.”

Just then Kreacher reappeared with a pop. Trailing him was another house-elf Harry didn't recognize. Both were laden down by huge trays of sweets, and Kreacher had two large bottles of Firewhiskey with him as well.

“Cheers, Kreacher, that's fantastic,” he said to the elf.

“Master is pleased?” Kreacher croaked.

“Yes, absolutely.”

Kreacher eyed Draco carefully. “And young mister Malfoy is pleased?”

Draco snorted inelegantly, then recovered himself. “Yes, it looks great. Uh, Kreacher.” 

The elf nodded and was gone with a pop. 

“How exactly does your house-elf know my name, then, Potter?”

Harry waved him off. “I'm sure we'll get to all of that soon enough.”

Yes, thought Draco. 'We certainly will.'


	4. Chapter 4

After Draco and Harry had gorged themselves properly on sweets, they sat back on their respective beds, looking around the room. There had been little conversation while they ate, and the room was now full of the unpleasant discomfort that was natural between two young men who weren't truly friends but who were in close quarters. 

“Alright Potter, here's the deal: if we're to spend Christmas Eve together, or whatever drivel you had planned, I think we should get properly sloshed. You brought the firewhiskey, which looks drinkable enough; let's have at it.”

“You mean, just drink it? Just like that?”

Draco smirked. “Did you have another idea in mind? Did you bring fruity mixers to make cocktails?” 

“Well, no. I mean... I guess I've never really done this before.”

“Drink?”

“No, of course not,” Harry blushed slightly. “I mean, yes, I've had alcohol. In fact, I've had enough firewhiskey to know it goes down smoother the more you have. But I mean, we've never had a drink together. I feel like we should toast, or something.” 

“Oh Merlin, you really are a Gryffindor,” Draco groaned. “It boarders on the absurd, truly.” 

“Come off it, Malfoy, and stop acting like you're so cultured or what have you.”

“But I am cultured, Potter, much more than the likes of you, that's for sure. Oh come on, give it here,” Draco said, reaching for one of the empty glasses placed between him and Harry. 

Harry slowly poured the amber liquid into Malfoy's glass, and then his own. “Alright, Malfoy. Here's to the end of being enemies, the beginning of being friends, and to making our housemates question both of our sanities.” 

“Cheers.” With a clink of glasses, they drank the burning liquid down.

“Ugh, that's a lot more foul than I remember,” said Harry.

“Remember, the more you have, the smoother it goes down,” quote Draco. 

Harry smiled. “Yeah, yeah. So. I've never been in the dormitories, but your common room looks just the same as it did second year.” 

“And the truth comes out. Hang on, Potter, if we're going to do the whole heart-to-heart thing, we need to do it right. Do we need to play some silly game, or shall we do this the grown-up way?”

“Erm... well I don't know. I've never really played many drinking games, but I think the grown-up way sounds better. What do you suggest?”

Draco paused. What should he suggest? Potter seemed amiable enough that he could push his luck, if he wanted... “How about this? We take turns asking questions. If you don't want to answer a question, you take a drink. However, if you do answer a question, it has to be truthful. How does that sound?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, okay. Get it all out on the table, that's good.”

“Excellent.” Draco reached over to the first bottle of Ogden's and brandished his wand. With a few muttered words, he was satisfied.

“What was that, then?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just a simple spell to get us both to be truthful. If you don't want to answer, fine. But now if we do answer, we'll have to be honest. Here,” Draco said, gesturing to Harry's glass, “Let's have that.” He poured another generous helping of the whiskey in Harry's glass, and then he poured some in his own. “Drink up Potter, have to give the magic a chance to work.” 

Harry drank cautiously, noting that the spell did nothing for the taste. “Ugh. Okay. Who goes first?”

“Well, you were saying something about visiting Slytherin in second year. How about we start there?”

“Ah,” said Harry. “Yes, Ron and I used Polyjuice to spy on you. We thought you were the heir of Slytherin. You weren't.”

“Seriously?” grinned Draco. “You thought I was the heir?”

“Mmmhmmm. Muggle-born hating Slytherin, seemed to make sense at the time.”

Draco frowned slightly. “I don't hate Muggle-borns.”

“You did,” Harry said softly.

“Yeah.”

“So anyway, that's that. I have been in Slytherin house. More over, I've been in Slytherin and convinced you I was Goyle. Ten points to Gryffindor. Who's cunning now, snake?” He grinned. This was actually sort of fun. “Okay. Your turn, Malfoy. You haven't called Hermione a Mudblood this year, you haven't made fun of Ron's family, and you haven't tried to push me down the stairs, hex me, or made me look stupid in class. Honestly, I think that's surprised me more than you and your family switching sides. What gives?”

Draco considered his drink, but decided the truth went down easier. “I suppose I just don't see the point anymore. Granger is smarter and braver than I'd like to admit, the Weasel is a freckled-face prat, but he can't help it if his family is poor, and you? You saved us. All of us. Me, especially. Just doesn't seem right to be a complete arse to any of you anymore.”

“Wow. Okay. That spell does work, I guess,” Harry said into his glass of firewhiskey. 

Draco shrugged awkwardly and covered his eyes with his hand. “Okay. Your turn. What's with you and the Weaselette not snogging in the hallways like you used to do?”

“Hey! I never...” Harry said, and then stopped. The whiskey was letting him know just how much bollucks that was. “Okay, there was once or twice. We're not together anymore, Ginny and me. Haven't been since before the war.”

“Why?” asked Draco.

“Nope, it's your turn now, Malfoy. You and Parkinson?”

“Just friends. Well, I haven't seen her since the war, but she writes occasionally. I honestly think she was afraid to show her face around here after offering to give you up to the Dark Lord. I think she's afraid you'd hex her smushed-in nose right off her face.” He grinned devilishly. “And there's the whole bit about her getting knocked up by a half-blood American wizard who wears girl-jeans. So.” 

“No!”

“Oh yes,” Draco laughed. “I'm sure the family is very excited about their bastard Yank grandchild. So. Why aren't you and Ginny together?”

Harry took a deep drink, and Draco snorted. “Really, Potter? Taking the easy way out?”

“No, just needed a little liquid courage,” Harry replied, feeling his face and neck warm. Gods, was he really going to say it out loud? And to Malfoy, of all people? It wasn't as if it was a well-kept secret, really. The Weasleys all knew by now, as did his dorm mates... “You see, 'scauseImgay,” he blurted out.

“Sorry? What was that?”

“I... I found out I don't fancy girls. I fancy blokes. I'm... I'm gay,” Harry said, ending in a whisper. “So. That sort of ended any dreams of ever joining the Weasley family. Although, I've heard some interesting enough stories about Charlie...” he said quietly, almost to himself. 

Well. That was... unexpected. Draco contemplated his next few questions, wondering just how far to push Potter. But first, more alcohol. 

“Come on Potter, cheers to dodging Weasley progeny,” he said with a evil grin.

“I am not drinking to that!” Harry exclaimed.

“Fine,” drawled Draco. “Cheers to following our hearts and not other's expectations, and all of that Hufflepuff shit.” Harry smiled, clinked glasses, and drank heartily. 

Draco was beginning to feel the effects of the liquid and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “It has been a long time since I got sloshed,” he said with a grin. “A loooooong time. Feels kinda good. Like my arms are weird.” 

Harry watched him curiously. Malfoy had never been this open around him; it was sort of wonderful. “Alright, Malfoy. Draco. I'm going to call you Draco, now.” 

Draco just raised an eyebrow.

“You asked me an embarrassing question, and now it's your turn. Have you ever wanked while thinking of a professor? And if so,” he said quickly, “who?” 

“That's two questions,” protested Draco.

“No s'not. 'S one question with two parts. Totally acceptable.”

“Shit,” breathed Draco. “Okay. Yes. Fine. ONCE. Just once. And it wasn't really even my fault; I had a dirty dream, I woke up, I finished. It was completely understandable.”

“And the lucky professor was....” Harry smirked.

“Lupin.”

Harry chortled, then stopped suddenly. “Lupin? Remus Lupin? As in... Lupin?”

Draco covered his face with his hands. “Yes! Yes, okay? It was after the whole werewolf thing came out, and the dream was really hot, and there was that whole animalistic thing...”

“No, I mean, I get it,” said Harry. “It's just...” He's a man! screamed Harry silently.

“Okay, Potter. You get it for that one. I'm going to think of a question so humiliating that you'll have to drink.”

Harry's green eyes gleamed. That was not the sort of challenge to offer a Gryffindor, no matter who they were. It was definitely not the sort of challenge to offer Harry Potter. “Bring it on, Draco,” he said, drawing out the other boy's name slowly.

“Okay. Got it. I want you to describe for me, step by the step, the most brilliant wank you ever had, complete with fantasy.”

Harry colored deeply. Shit. How much would the spell compel him to say? He couldn't outright lie, but surely he could speak in generalities... “Fine, Malfoy, but you asked for it. The most brilliant wank I ever had was this summer, after I realized I was a lot more bent than straight. I was living at Grimmauld,” Harry noted it felt strange to say the once-secret location aloud, “and I was on my own for the first time in a while. Ron and Hermione stayed there off and on during the summer, helping me clean up the place. Anyway. I got this amazing lube for a birthday present, long story, and I took it into the shower.” 

Draco suddenly realized this was not a good question to ask, not at all. In fact, just based on the tightening of his pants, this was exactly the wrong type of question to ask a former enemy unless one wanted to make a fool of oneself. 

“So I'm in the shower, and it's hot, almost too hot. And I get out the lube, and it heats up automatically. Which is good, because cold lube is rubbish. And I start stroking myself slowly.” Harry's head fell back on the headboard as he remembered that day. “First I concentrated on the head, and then the shaft. I reached my other hand down and started touching my balls, and that's when I realized this was no ordinary lube. It prolonged every touch, made everything feel ten times better. I wanted to last though, so I took my time. And I started thinking of the showers in the Quidditch locker rooms, how they aren't private or anything. They're all open, so everyone can see everything. I used to race through my shower in there, or sometimes I'd just wait to get back to the dorms to shower. I guess I didn't want to face the fact that all I really wanted to do was take a good look around.” Harry's eyes closed as he recounted his tale. “So in my fantasy, I'm in the locker room, and I'm showering. And I think I'm all alone, so I start stroking myself. My eyes are closed, and I'm getting closer when I feel someone step behind me.” Harry felt himself growing hard and he gave up on all modesty and palmed his crotch. “I can't see him right away, but it's obvious he's naked, and it's obvious that he wants me. I feel him hard against my back - his chest, his stomach, his cock. He reaches down and grabs me, taking over. He strokes me firmly, and he kisses and bites my neck. I feel him grinding against me, and he takes his cock and he slowly drags it up and down my crack. And that's it, that's all it takes, and I come like a fucking geyser.” Harry shuddered and groaned softly. “And when I opened my eyes, I'd splattered spunk all over the shower wall. I felt like I had run for miles. It was fucking brilliant.” Harry slowly opened his eyes and took his hand off his crotch. He wanted so badly to finish, but more than that, he wanted to see the defeat in Malfoy's eyes. He should know not to challenge the Boy Who Lived to Wank.

“So,” asked Harry. “Was that a good enough answer?” he asked calmly.

“Uh yeah,” Draco stuttered. “I think that was good enough. Um, let's take a quick bathroom break, shall we? Firewhiskey really makes me have to piss.” 

“Sure,” Harry said nonchalantly, watching Malfoy awkwardly stand. The object of his fantasy walked stiffly away, and Harry's eyes flew wide open. Maybe fantasy could become reality...


	5. Chapter 5

When Draco had calmed down, he went back into the bedroom. He had wanted desperately to pull himself off – it would just take a few strokes, he knew it, but he couldn't do it. Not when Potter was just a wall away, not after that story. Potter must have seen how hard he'd been; he'd certainly seen Potter's arousal. But if he came now, it would be like admitting defeat. Potter would win. And Potter couldn't win.

“More whiskey?” Harry asked innocently when Draco re-entered the room. Draco held out his glass without a word, and made himself comfortable on his bed once more.

“So, my turn to ask a question. Hmmmm, so many choices.” Harry looked at Draco carefully; should he keep up their game, or should he ask a question he was really curious about? Deciding to put away the dirty questions for the moment, he asked, “Why didn't you tell them it was me? At the Manor, you knew, and you risked everything by not telling.” 

Draco was quiet, pondering his reply. He knew his reasons, but they were hard to articulate. “I... listen, Potter. I haven't liked you for a long time, but I never really thought you were lying. I knew the Dark Lord had come back fourth year, and I had a good feeling that my father had a hand in it. No matter how much I resented you, I suppose I always thought you would be the one to save us all. I got that stupid mark not out of obedience, but fear. After Father was sent to Azkaban, I was forced to take his place. When you saw me in the girl's bathroom...” Draco paused, remembering that debacle, “I was ashamed. I felt weak. But I remember wishing, somehow, that you would save me too. You were supposed to kill You-Know-Who. You were the Chosen One. But you never chose me. Not first year, not ever. So when you came into my house that night, all swollen and in pain, I guess I chose you. I knew that if I told them it was you, that could be the end of it. But I didn't want Him to win. I didn't want to be afraid any more. Do you have any idea what it was like, having him there with us? In my own home? The things I saw, the things they made me do....” To his utter embarrassment, Draco let out a short whimper. “You had to be the one to end it, because if that monster won, I'd have killed myself. I would have never served him. So I chose to lie, and pretend I wasn't sure it was you. Really, it was the coward's way out, again. I could have said no outright, but then if they found out...”

“There was nothing cowardly about it.”

Draco looked into Harry's eyes and was surprised at the intensity there. “Well.”

“Can I see it?” asked Harry softly. “The Mark?”

“No,” Draco sputtered. “No. Why would you want to see that? It's hideous.”

“Please?” Harry asked, and he moved to sit next to Draco. “Please,” he whispered once more, and sensing Draco's diminishing refusal, he unbuttoned the blonde boy's sleeve. Slowly he folded the cuff up, keeping it neat and orderly. Draco watched the Dark Mark appeared inch by inch, and he had to look away. It really was hideous – he knew that. The ink was like tar against his pale flesh, and although it would never hurt again, he remembered the burning pain associated with it. It was evil. 

Harry stared at the tattoo, studying it closely. It no longer had any sort of magic to it – it couldn't move, couldn't burn, couldn't summon. It was just a mark, just a nasty-looking tattoo any sort of rebellious teenager would get. In fact, it would almost look common in the Muggle world. A snake. A skull. A sign of bad judgment, nothing more. Carefully he traced it with his finger; he had expected the skin to feel different, there. Rougher, or raised. But it appeared to be the same as the rest of Draco – smooth, soft, delicate. There was no evil left there. It was just ink and flesh.

“I think I'd get something really scary,” Harry said casually, trying to break Draco's somberness. “I mean, a snake may scare some people, but I can chat with them, so they lack a certain amount of intimidation. And a skull? That's just body part. May as well be a femur or something. No, I think I'd get something really dark, if I were to get a tattoo. Like a screeching mermaid; those things are awful. Or one of Umbridge's cat plates – you know, those disgusting, meowing pink things she had in her office? I'm not sure one can get more evil than that.”

Draco looked up at him in amazement, and then he looked down at his arm. Harry was still softly touching the skin with his thumb, worrying small circles into his flesh. “I think you'd look very badass with a cat plate tattoo, Potter,” he said softly. “It could match that Hungarian Horntail one you've got.” 

“You don't really believe I have a Horntail tattoo, do you?” Harry asked in surprise.

“Dunno. The Weaselette said so, and unless you've been more discrete than I realized with your dalliances, she'd be the one to know.” 

“Wanna check?” Harry said suddenly with a suggestive grin. Draco blushed slightly, which was just the reaction Harry was looking for; it was really too easy. 

“Uh, I think it's my turn to ask a question now,” Draco said, pulling himself together once more. He straightened up on the bed and rolled down his sleeve, moving slightly away from Harry as he did so. “Why do you suddenly want to be friends? Is it because the rest of the Golden Trio is coupling on holiday?”

Harry frowned. “No. I mean, I didn't want to spend the night by myself in my dorm, but that's not the real reason.”

“Then what is it, Potter? It's not like you're lacking in friendships. The Savior of the Wizarding world seems to be fairly well-liked.”

“It's not that at all!” Harry said, frustrated. He turned on the bed until he was facing Draco head on. “Look, I just want to be friends with you, alright? Why does there have to be a reason?”

“Because!” exploded Draco. “Because it's completely nonsensical. Illogical. Irrational, even! You don't have to be friends with me out of guilt, or to keep the peace, or whatever. We can just decide not to hex each other's balls off and be done with it. Why the farce? Why the need to make something more out of it when it's not necessary?”

Harry reared back, angry and frustrated. “Because I want to, okay? Can't that be good enough? I hated you for years, Malfoy, but I never could just ignore you. In fact, the older we got, the more obsessed I became about you! I had my bloody house-elf follow you sixth year because I knew you were up to something!”

“That Kreacher? He followed me? Here, at school?” Draco asked, disbelieving.

“Yes! Not just him either, but Dobby, too! And I have this map, this map that shows where everyone in the school is at all times. And I stared at it, night after night, trying to figure out what was happening to you. I knew you were caught in the middle of something, I just didn't know what! Merlin, for years I've watched you, followed you. And so no, I can't just be done with it. I don't know what my problem is. I tried all year to ignore you, and then it took me forever to pluck up the courage to give you your wand back, and to apologize. I thought my Malfoy-issues would go away after the war; you weren't one of the bad guys, I no longer had to keep an eye on you. But you're everywhere, do you know that? I feel like I can't get away from you, no matter how big this bloody castle is. And then you're in my dreams, and I can't exactly make myself just stop dreaming, unless I take a bloody potion every night –”

“You dream about me?” Draco asked, keeping completely still.

“Yes! Yes, I dream about you. All the time. It's a compulsion, and I can't stop it. And I'm sick of trying.”

“What happens, in your dreams?”

Harry gulped, but moved closer. “This,” he said, and then he closed the distance and touched his lips to Draco's. They were soft, and smooth, and warm. “This,” he said again, kissing the other boy deeper, coaxing a reaction of him. Softly, slowly, the Slytherin responded, matching Harry's kiss perfectly. It was so sweet and innocent, so very much unlike any of Harry's dreams. 

Draco pulled away reluctantly. “We shouldn't. We're drunk. This is a bad idea.”

“Not drunk,” said Harry, daring to run a hand through silver-blonde fringe. “Put a sobering charm on the whiskey. Sort of counter-intuitive, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“So this... this is real? This is what you want?” asked Draco.

“Yes,” said Harry, pulling Draco toward him. “This is definitely what I want.”

When they kissed again, it was with more intensity, and more heat. Harry fell onto the other boy, pinning him down with legs and chest and hands. “Want you,” he said, his mouth and tongue moving down to Draco's neck. “Want this.” 

Draco moaned and arched into the kisses littering his neck and collarbone. When Harry's fingers began to work the buttons on his shirt, however, he pulled at the Gryffindor's hands, and flipped them, to Harry's surprise. Draco pinned Harry's hands to the mattress and playfully bit at his bottom lip. “I believe I'm to look for a Hungarian Horntail,” he said with a smirk. His pale hands played at the bottom of Harry's jumper and t-shirt. He slowly pushed up both, raking his nails down the Chosen One's stomach, teasing him. “No dragon here,” he said, and he lifted the shirt higher. He placed gentle kisses on each inch of exposed skin. “Hmmm, none there, either.” He continued his torture until at last he pulled the tops completely off. He dug his thumbs into the green-eyed boy's hipbones, loving the sounds Harry was making.

“I think your girlfriend is a dirty liar,” Draco said with a hiss.

“Not my girlfriend. Definitely not my girlfriend,” Harry said with a laugh. He reached up and began to undo the buttons on Draco's shirt. It eventually took both of them, since neither seemed to have very much patience. When they were both shirtless, Harry pulled Draco to him, marveling in the simple feel of skin on skin. Tongue met tongue, hips met hips, and they started a slow, teasing rhythm. When it got to be too much, but still not enough, Harry reached down and undid the fastenings on Draco's trousers. He pushed the offending garments down long, pale legs, and Draco moved to help facilitate the action. Harry cupped Draco though his pants, and his breath hitched when the felt the wetness of arousal there. In seconds Harry was down to his underwear as well, and both boys moaned as they dragged their cocks over one another. 

After Harry's rather explicit story, Draco knew he wouldn't last very long. Gasping for air, he moved off of Harry and curled up on the bed to face him. “I just want you to know that I haven't... I mean, I tried, once, with Pansy, but she knew I liked blokes before I did, and it just didn't... So, this would be...”

“Me too. I mean, I haven't. With anyone,” Harry said. “I've practiced. A lot. But even in the Quidditch fantasy, you were never this good a kisser.”

“Me? I was the guy in the locker room?” Draco asked incredulously, a huge smile working its way across his face.

“Mmmhmmm. Wet blonde hair, soft lips, and a tight grip,” he said, reaching for Draco's dick. “But reality is so much better.” He began to stroke the other boy through his pants, and Draco quickly followed suit. 

“Mmm, Harry?” Draco said between kisses. “I want... can I try something?”

“Yes,” said Harry, simply. “You could set me on fire right now and I don't think I'd complain.”

Draco pushed Harry onto his back and positioned himself between the other boy's legs. He hooked his thumbs in the Gryffindor's pants, and pulled down slowly. “Green briefs, Potter? Really?”

“Is that a problem, Malfoy?”

“Not at all.” 

When Harry was fully naked, Draco sat back and looked at him. He let his hands trail the soft patch of hair down to the base of Harry's cock, and he took the hardened member in hand. He gave it a few strokes before leaning over and licking the tip of it hesitantly. When the taste was much less bothersome than he'd imagined, he kissed it softly, running his tongue along the head. Harry seemed to like that, so he continued in his ministrations, finally taking the whole thing in his mouth and running his tongue experimentally up and down the underside of the shaft. It didn't take long at all before Harry's hips thrust up uncontrollably, and he tapped Draco quickly on the head. Draco ignored the warning and sucked deeply, drawing out the salty-bitter liquid that Harry released with a groan. Draco let it collect in his mouth, which may have been a mistake, but he breathed in deeply through his nose and swallowed. 

Harry pulled Draco up his body and kissed him fiercely, tasting himself on the other boy's tongue. “Fuck, Draco, that was... that was the most intense, amazing, magical thing that ever happened to me. Here, let me show you,” he said, and pulled away from Draco's mouth and began to move down his body. 

“Uh, maybe later,” said Draco, blushing through his laughter. Harry looked down and saw the splattered cum streaking Draco's pants and the bottom of his stomach.

“Did you? I mean, when you were?”

“You're hot, Potter,” Draco said, embarrassed. 

“You're going to be the death of me, Malfoy, but it's going to be a very, very good death.” He uttered a wandless cleaning spell on the boy of them, and then Harry pulled Draco back towards him for a kiss and settled the boy into his side. He brushed fine white-blonde hair out of gray eyes and softly kissed Draco's forehead. “Is it okay if I sleep here tonight?”

Draco smirked widely. “If you must.”

Harry felt on the bedside table for his wand and whispered a quiet, “Nox.” In the darkness of the Slytherin dormitories, Harry pulled blankets over both him and Draco. He moved them both until Draco was spooned against him, and he bit down lightly on the Slytherin's shoulder. “Tomorrow I'm going to return the favor. And then, maybe we can try a few more new things together.”

“Yes,” yawned Draco, “but it's quiet time now, Potter, so kindly shut up.” He pulled the Gryffindor's arms tightly around him and intertwined their fingers. “Merry Christmas, Scarhead.”

“Merry Christmas, Ferret.”


End file.
